


Christmas Bingo 2017

by dizzzylu



Series: Holidaze [1]
Category: Hockey RPF, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bingo, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: A collection of Christmas-themed ficlets





	1. Foreword

I'm spending my first Christmas away from home this year (not the tragedy it sounds like, I assure you), and because of that, I'm unable to decorate or really get into Christmas spirit of any kind, which kind of bums me out, I'm not gonna lie. To channel my Christmas cravings, I Googled for a bingo card generator and this happened!

(you can find the bingo card [here](https://twitter.com/dizzzylu/status/940686936511078400))

Each "chapter" is for a different pairing, each pairing getting about 1000 words each, give or take. Some are AUs, some are not. One is a pairing that I think is well and truly dead, one is a pairing that exists only because I'm a tall girl with complex needs. A whopping THREE are pairings I've never written before, so that was a joy. Each chapter title will indicate the pairing, and appropriate tags will be included in the chater's author's notes. There will be six chapters in all (including this foreword), but I was felled by a cold after I finished the first three, so the last two will be bringing up the rear, _hopefully_ before New Year's Eve.

I am pretty sure there is nothing triggering included in any of the fics (I was aiming for fluff here), but if I missed something, please tell me and I'll make sure to include them in the overall fic tags.

Also, since this was all in good fun, none of this was betaed, except for my reading over everything a second and third (and tenth) time. If there are any egregious errors, please let me know.

Thanks for clicking! Happy Holidays! 

♥♥♥


	2. Derek/Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
>  **prompt:** stars  
>  **tags:** established relationship, kidfic, cuddling

They say after you have your first kid, it gets easier. You don't stress as much about the little things, and the bigger things aren't as scary now that you've been through them once.

Derek doesn't know who "they" are, but it's obvious they've never met Stiles.

Stiles whose only setting is all or nothing, who freaks out as much over a tiny scrape as he does the clutch of skin walkers migrating through California. Who makes a big deal out of something as simple as the boys learning to tie their shoes. He doesn't know how to turn it off and, if Derek's honest with himself, that's half the reason he fell in love with Stiles to begin with.

The thing is, it's kind of hard to remember that at three o'clock in the morning, Stiles hunched over a sewing machine, grumbling about cheap ass thread. Derek tries to ignore it, but the machine is old and the hum is like a drill straight into his brain. It's a good thing the kids are heavy sleepers.

He stumbles out of bed on autopilot, pawing around for his pants and a pair of slippers, and checks on the each of the boys before heading downstairs. Nik sleeps like Stiles, every single limb sprawled in its own direction, but the twins have migrated to one bed, curved together like parentheses underneath their favorite fleece blanket. Stiles and Derek haven't yet decided if they should keep indulging this trend, but it's kind of hard to resist how cute they look sharing one pillow between them.

Ben is last, curled up with his favorite Godzilla plushie. Derek can hear his heartbeat, knows that it's steady, but can't resist sneaking in to adjust the blankets anyway, passing a palm over Ben's soft hair. Ben sighs in his sleep and angles his face up, snuffling around in search of Derek's hand. "I'm here," Derek rumbles, sinking into a crouch. "You're okay, baby." Ben gives him a sleepy smile, eyes slitting open for a moment, and Derek leans in to kiss Ben's downy cheek, to whisper, "Love you," into his ear.

Derek makes a left at the bottom of the stairs, bypassing the twinkling glow of the Christmas tree to steer himself toward the kitchen first. The light over the stove is still on, which is just dim enough for Derek to shuffle through putting water to heat, pulling down two mugs, and digging out the chamomile. Stiles' grousing is a constant throughout, while Derek goes around turning off Christmas lights and waits for the tea to brew.

Mugs in hand, Derek pauses in the doorway of the study to watch Stiles struggle over his project. It feels so warm and cozy here, the whole room turned honey gold from the light of the desk lamp. Stiles' hair is wilder than usual — from his own hands, no doubt — and his shoulders are hunched up almost to his ears. Not a bit of him looks at all relaxed, but Derek's hoping he can help with that.

He starts by taking a sip of tea, and setting the other mug on the desk, well out of Stiles' reach. Stiles is too agitated right now to appreciate it and Derek doesn't want it ending up on the floor, a casualty of Stiles' frustrated flailing. 

Touch comes next; Derek's palm settling between Stiles' shoulder blades. There isn't as much tension as Derek guessed, but it's enough for him to siphon it away, Stiles' shoulders dropping centimeter by centimeter. That's when Stiles' mouth starts to slow, too. The grumbling coming in fits and starts, as opposed to a constant low thrum.

Derek waits until Stiles sighs, a full bodied thing, and slides his hand up, fingers spearing into Stiles' soft hair. He spreads them wide, pushing forward until he brushes over Stiles' forehead, then pulls back, dragging blunt fingernails over Stiles' scalp hard enough to make him shiver. It only takes three tries for Stiles to slump against the back of the chair, like a marionette with all its strings cut. Derek hides his smile against his mug, not that Stiles could see it anyway.

Now that Stiles is still and silent, Derek hands him the extra mug of tea and rests his hand on Stiles' nape. 

"Thanks babe," Stiles murmurs in between slurps. "Sorry about the noise."

"S'okay," Derek murmurs, stroking his thumb behind Stiles' ear. "You realize the pageant is still a week away, right?" Stiles grumbles something into his mug that Derek pretends not to hear. "And that you'll get the dryad treaty worked out in _plenty_ of time?"

"You don't know that. What if th--"

Derek squeezes Stiles' neck to cut him off. "I _do_ know that."

"Derek," Stiles whines.

"Stiles."

Stiles gulps down the last of his tea and lists to the side, letting Derek support his weight. "Just because you're alpha doesn't mean you know everything."

"No," Derek agrees, fingers sifting through Stiles' hair to distract him. "But _you_ know everything, and that's all I need to know." 

"That is dirty pool," Stiles mutters, pushing into Derek's touch.

Derek sets his empty mug on the sewing table and takes a half step away, trying to guide Stiles into a standing position at the same time. "C'mon. The costumes can wait until it's daylight."

"Can they, though?" Stiles asks around a yawn. With Derek behind him, Stiles allows himself to be herded up the stairs and past the bedrooms. "They're stars Derek, maybe they're easier to sew at night." Sighing, Derek strips Stiles out of his t-shirt and hoodie, ignoring Stiles' sleepy giggling. "Get it?" Stiles says, nudging Derek. "Stars. Night sewing." 

"Yes Stiles, I get it." Stiles folds into bed easily, restless until Derek can slip in behind him and tangle their legs together.

Stiles yawns again, fitting himself to the curve of Derek's body. "They were supposed to be easier," he mumbles, working through the last of his fidgeting.

"I know," Derek says, this argument almost routine by now.

"Stars! Five points! Bing bang boom!" One hand emerges from the covers to draw one in the air. Derek grabs it by the wrist and draws it in, circling Stiles' chest. "No one talks about making a wire framework, Derek. _No one_."

"You'll figure it out," Derek murmurs into his ear, starting to drop off. 

Stiles sighs. "Yeah, I will." Silence follows, Stiles' heartbeat finally starting to slow. "Hey babe?" Stiles says.

Derek bites back a groan, rubs a hand over Stiles' ribs. "What's up?"

"Love you."

Derek presses his smile to Stiles' nape. "Love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that have read my previous Derek/Stiles fics, you might recognize Nik and the twins (and Ben, though I don't think he's shown up yet) as part of my [Marshmallow World](http://archiveofourown.org/series/111446). That is still a thing I'm constantly thinking about, and I wanted to give my dear friend Kyuu a short little Christmas treat. Hope you like it, bb! *smooch*


	3. Jamie/Tyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **pairing:** Jamie/Tyler  
>  **prompt:** tradition  
>  **tags:** team bonding, Tyler being thoughtful, established relationship (though I think that's less obvious)

Everybody who's ever met Tyler knows he isn't a forward thinker. He doesn't think it's a character flaw; more a result of preferring to live in the present. His life is pretty awesome. Why would he want to ignore enjoying that to think about the future? Nobody knows what's going to happen in the future, so thinking about it feels like a big waste of time. Time Tyler could be spending on the ice or with Jamie, going on trips with his bros. It's not a flaw, it's a feature.

That doesn't make him unobservant, though. It might take Tyler an extra day or two to notice something gone sideways, but he _will_ notice it. And fix it, if he can. If he wants to.

Take, for instance, the annual Benn Christmas Game Night.

It sounded kind of dorky, the first time Tyler was invited. They play a game for a living, what's the fun in spending a whole night crowded around a table, playing kids games or card games? Things seemed even worse when Tyler arrived; the food spread looked amazing, but the beverage choices felt a bit lacking.

"Egg nog?" Tyler muttered to himself in disbelief. 

Fidds came up from behind and nudged Tyler to the side, reaching for the spiked punch bowl. "Give it a chance, kid. You might surprise yourself." 

Tyler smiles and nods and, after Fidds leaves, downs a cup of spiked nog to give himself something to do. 

In the end, it turned out Fidds was right. Tyler had fun playing the games he never had much time for as a kid. He didn't even drink as much nog as he expected to. The best part was, it's the first family party he felt comfortable at. Welcomed by both the team dads and their shy kids. For all the shit he talked in his head, Tyler's glad he went, and learned to look forward to the yearly tradition.

Well, he looks forward to it that night. By the next week, they're back to the grind and the next Christmas feels eons away. 

Which is why it takes him so long to notice something weird about this year. It comes to him on the way home from the Caps game, sitting silent in the passenger seat, trying to get his mind of the loss, Jamie just as quiet beside him. 

"When's the game night this year?" Tyler asks. It usually happens toward the beginning of December, when the parties are fewer and farther between and people aren't as stressed out yet. Tyler guesses he didn't notice it not happening because they were on the road so much.

"What?" Jamie says, sounding distracted. 

"Your game night?" Tyler says. "You haven't said when it's gonna be?"

Jamie's face crumples a little and he shrugs one shoulder. "That was Jordie's thing. So."

"Jordie's thing," Tyler echoes, skeptical. 

Jamie glances at Tyler, then back to the road. "Yeah, he started it when we were kids. I just went along later because it made him happy." He shoots Tyler a wobbly smile. "You know how people get about their Christmas traditions."

"Uh huh," Tyler says. He does know, not that he really has any. His mom had the whole matching pajama thing for Christmas Eve she always insisted on, but he only went along because it made her happy. It's not something he'll live and die by as an adult. 

In fact, Tyler thought he and Jordie were somewhat alike in that regard. Happy to go along with the others, for whatever made them happy, with no strong feelings either way about how things _should_ be done. In fact, in the half a dozen years that Tyler's known them, _Jamie's_ the one who is…militant is too strong of a word, but he definitely has thoughts about how the holiday season should go, and isn't afraid to let people know them.

But it's late, they're frustrated, and the last thing Tyler wants right now is to argue. That'll only wind Jamie tighter and have him turning down Tyler's suggestion of consolation handjobs.

No, Tyler will wait until tomorrow instead, when he can talk to Spezz and Rads.

: : :

Wearing an A makes it a lot easier to have side discussions with Jason without tweaking Jamie's protective instincts. And Rads seems more pumped than both Tyler and Jason to be involved with a Christmas surprise. Having him on the team has been quite the ego boost.

Between the three of them, Spezza agrees to host the party, Rads agrees to stock up on the cheesy Christmas attire and egg nog ("Easy on the alcohol though," Spezz warns), and Tyler gets tasked with buying the games and getting Jamie to the party. _Without_ spilling the beans. Luckily, there isn't much time between coming up with the plan and putting it into motion, so Tyler doesn't have a lot of opportunity to ruin the surprise. And the look on Jamie's face makes it all worth it, up until it morphs into that weird mix between joy and hesitance. 

"I told you this was Jordie's thing," he hisses into Tyler's ear on their way to the egg nog. 

Tyler snorts and pats him on the chest. "There is nobody who knows you that would believe that." He fixes them each a cup of nog and taps them together in a toast. After a sip, he continues, "It's okay Chubbs, we love you _because_ you're a giant dork. Not in spite of it. Now go, get your game on before you over-think it."

Jamie huffs and tweaks Tyler's nipple, but he goes, choosing the table with Sorry! first, next to the kids setting up Twister on the floor. Rad's wife comes around a moment later, a festive gift sack in her hands, and plunks something on Jamie's head. Tyler can't see what it is until she moves; a giant pair of fuzzy antlers trimmed with tiny lights. Jamie giggles at her, clearly pleased, and something settles behind Tyler's ribs, warm and content.


	4. Jo/Shea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **pairing:** Jo Drouin/Shea Weber  
>  **prompt:** tree  
>  **tags:** AU, meetcute, tree lots

It would figure that the one day Jo has free to go Christmas tree shopping, his friends are forced to abandon him at the last minute for things like extra hours at work or emergency niece sitting. Jo gets it, of course. He's not heartless, just alone at a tree farm, with no one to help him carry the tree or tie it to the car. But it's fine. Jo's not small, he works out. He'll be fine.

It's fine up until he finds the perfect tree: a seven foot Colorado Blue Spruce. It's a bit taller than he should probably get, but it's a gorgeous silvery blue and the branches are so thick and full, Jo's kind of surprised this tree is even still available. The only downside to it must be its size. If it doesn't fit in the usual spot in Jo's living room, he'll just… do some rearranging. The hassle will be worth it for how beautiful it is. 

The trick is bringing it up to the register to get it netted. Jo's not small, but this tree still has a good foot on him, and it's a careful balance, trying to get the best hold of the trunk without damaging the branches. It doesn't help that the tree is at the far end of the lot. Perhaps that's another reason it hasn't sold. 

Jo makes it a few more feet, debating whether or not the tree is worth the slow slog, when a voice from behind startles him.

"Need some help?" The voice asks. Before Jo can answer, the bottom of the tree is being lifted, and Jo has to adjust to catch the top or let it topple him over.

"Oh, I was doing fi— hi, hello" Jo says, flustered. Without the tree weighing him down, Jo can see the guy properly, all six foot plus of him, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie. Standard tree lot uniform if Jo's ever seen it, but this guy wears it well, matched with a old down vest and a pair of sturdy work gloves. But it's his face Jo can't stop staring at. The lazy smile revealing neat white teeth, his eyes crinkling at the corners. A pair of dimples partially obscured by a well-kept beard. Jo's never been to this particular farm before, but if he'd known the employees were this hot, he would've come sooner. 

The guy's eyebrows arch, his smile turning sly. Jo frowns, confused. "What?"

"I said, 'Are we gonna get moving?'" He looks to be fighting back a laugh.

Jo's eyes narrow. "Sure, okay. Right," Jo says with a nod, grateful that he can blame his burning cheeks on the cold and not a blush. 

The trip to the exit is much easier with help, and the old woman at the register lights up when she sees the two of them approach. "That's one of my favorites," she says, watching it go through the baler. "I can't believe nobody bought it before now." 

"It's gorgeous," the guy says, hefting the tree off the rail. Jo gets a little starry-eyed by how easy he makes it look.

"You know how to take care of it now, don't you?" the woman — Margie, Jo gleans from the name tag — asks Jo.

"Been doing this for years," Jo says, but Margie continues on, reciting a bunch of tips by rote. Jo turns to the guy to roll his eyes, sharing a silent _what can you do?_. It earns him a wider smile, and the guy leans in, one hand landing on Jo's shoulder to tilt him closer.

"Want help tying this down?" he asks. The words are a low rumbling purr in Jo's ear, making his scalp tingle. 

"Sure," Jo says, his voice sounding strange. Margie laughs then and Jo echoes her, having no clue what she said. The guy laughs, too. A low, dry sound that settles in Jo's chest, warm and inviting. 

"Here you are," Margie says, handing over Jo's card and a pair of candy canes. "You boys have a Merry Christmas now!"

"Thanks," Jo says on autopilot. "We will." It takes a few feet for Jo to retrace the conversation and a dozen more to be a little confused. "Does she think we're together?" he blurts once they reach his car. 

The guy chuckles and gently guides Jo out of the way. "I think so, yeah."

Jo watches him heave the tree onto the roof of the car, baffled and maybe a little aroused. _A little_. "But doesn't she know you?"

"Nope. Ropes?"

Jo pops the trunk, his brain working through the last twenty minutes or so. "So that means you don't work here?" he asks, handing over his tie-downs. 

"Nah. Can you hook this on the other side?" Jo rounds the side of the car, starting to wonder if he should fear for his safety. He discards the idea immediately. Psycho serial killers don't help people carry Christmas trees.

Probably.

"Wait, did you think I did?"

"Well, I mean," Jo gestures at the guy, a move meant to encompass his— well, everything. "You look the part," he says, starting to feel flustered. "The whole hot mountain man aesthetic you have going on and the gloves with the boots. I just." Jo stops his ramble in time to see the guy's shoulders shaking. 

"'Hot mountain man aesthetic'?"

Jo groans and looks up at the sky. "You asked if I wanted help!"

"Well yeah," the guy says, taking a step closer, drawing Jo's attention back to him. "It looked like that tree was trying to swallow you whole."

"I had it under control!" Jo's starting to think he's in some clichéd Lifetime Network Christmas movie and he isn't sure how he feels about that.

The guy smirks. "I'm sure you were."

Jo rolls his eyes and makes his way to the driver side door. "Yeah, well. I should probably uh, give you something for your help but—" he pats down his pockets, looking for his wallet, which is still in his hand. Right. "But I don't actually carry cash, so. My thanks will have to be enough."

"Or you could buy me a drink."

"Or I could… buy you a drink?" Jo's beginning to think he never had control of anything in the entirety of his life. 

"Yeah," the guy says, taking a step closer. Jo can smell him now, a soothing combination of woodsmoke and pine. "Are you free later?"

Jo _does_ have plans. With the friends who abandoned him in his time of need, so maybe not. "I could be." Silent, the guy peels off his gloves and holds out his hand, palm up. Jo loses several moments studying his thick blunt fingers. "Oh, right. Phone."

The guy chuckles and those same fingers drag over Jo's, dry and warm, sparking all along his skin. "Text me a place and I'll meet you at eight." He taps in his number, then his phone chimes a second later. "In case you forget," he explains, sliding Jo's phone back into the pocket of his peacoat. He lingers for an moment and Jo swears he can feel the heat of him through his coat.

"Yeah, okay," Jo says, dazed. He gets into his car on reflex, working to fight back a goofy smile. Before he can close the door, he stops and turns, surprised to find the guy still standing there, watching. "Hey wait. What's your name?" 

He jerks his head at Jo, a challenging look in his eyes. "What's yours?"

"I'm Jo."

"Jo," the guy repeats, reaching out one bare hand. Jo takes it. "I'm Shea."

"Shea," Jo says, liking the way it feels in his mouth.

Shea slips his hand from Jo's grip, his smile widening, feeling like a promise. "See you later, Jo."

Jo beams up at him, looking forward to the night ahead. "Yeah, definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the deal: I have a size kink to end all size kinks, probably because I'm a tall girl and desperately crave someone taller than myself to ho-- well, someone taller than me, full stop. I mean, I'm not a giant, but I'm the tallest of all the people I know, so. Unfortunately, it feels like 95% of the NHL is at least 6', so there aren't too many options to indulge in my size kink.
> 
> But then Jo was traded to the Habs and my friend Nic's Absolute Trouble, so here I am! (Yes, I know Jo was on a team with Victor Hedman, who is two whole inches taller than Shea, let us not speak of it *handwave*)
> 
> This particular piece doesn't really focus on the size kink much, though. I'm saving that for another fic that I started before this happened. But while I was trying to think of what I could do with 'tree', this idea popped into my head and Steph went Y E S, so. 
> 
> I think the lesson here is that I have no will of my own ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Paulie/Nealer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **pairing:** James Neal/Paulie Martin  
>  **prompt:** poinsettia  
>  **tags:** Monopoly, family dinner, animals making themselves sick (offscreen), getting together, first kiss, snuggling, AU I guess? (there's no year mentioned, no hockey either, and I have no clue when Nealer adopted his dogs, but I feel like he was already in Nashville, so. *Handwave* Timey wimey, wibbly wobbly, etc etc)

James isn't sure how he lucked out in the neighbor department, but Paulie is a god among men and James isn't sure what he would do without him. After all, it's not every neighbor that would invite a whole extra family for Christmas Eve dinner at the last minute, dogs and all. 

But there they all are, Paulie with his parents and sister, along with James and his parents, plus his sister and a brother, all squeezed in around Paulie's dining room table, James' parents still coughing a little from their smoke inhalation. 

(James isn't thinking about all the times Paulie suggested James get his oven inspected. Nope, not at all.)

There's Minnesota nice and then there's Paulie, and James has to focus on passing around the food or he might say something stupid and sappy. Christmas is evil like that.

Luckily, everybody's met each other before — James supposes that comes along with half-living in Paulie's pocket — so at least it isn't as awkward as it could be. In fact, it feels comfortable, if a bit cramped, talking and laughing with the Martins, Snoop and Nixon bombarding them sad, hopeful looks from their spot in in front of the patio doors. 

They eat and the talk and they eat some more, until most of the food is gone and the coffee machine is struggling to keep up. Their sisters chivvy everyone into the living room for the annual Monopoly game and pie, while they let the dishwasher chug through its paces. Somewhere along the way, the Bailey's gets dragged out and everything seems warm and cozy, James murmuring into Paulie's ear, trying to talk him into trading away Marvin Gardens for the trio of aqua properties James acquired. James' sister keeps shooting him weird looks, but Paulie doesn't seem to mind, not even when he says no and James gnaws on Paulie's shoulders in frustration.

By midnight, the yawning is too much to ignore, and James' sister suggests that maybe it's time the go home. James, curled up on the couch with his toes stuck underneath Paulie's thigh, feels too cozy to move, and just manages to resist his sister's poking, judgmental finger.

"Go round up your mutts," she says with affection. "Home by one or I'm coming over to drag you out."

"You'll be asleep by then!" he says to her retreating back in between murmuring his good nights to Paulie's family. 

Paulie waits until they're alone to give James' ankle a squeeze. "I'm gonna make sure we didn't miss any dishes," he says, getting up. "You want anything else?"

James hums. "For you not to move?" Paulie chuckles. "My toes'll get cold," James pouts. 

"Your toes'll be just fine." Paulie skims his fingers through James' hair on the way to the kitchen; James does _not_ lean into it. "Where are the dogs, anyway?" he says. "Haven't seen them in awhile."

James thinks about it for a bit, his eyes closed. The last time he saw them was right before they sat down for the game. James let them out while Paulie and James' sister passed out coffee and slices of pie. After they came back in, they made the rounds again, sniffing everybody to make sure they were all the same people, then wandered off. Probably to digest all the table scraps everybody slipped them.

"I'll check upstairs," James says, trying not to sound too disgruntled about it. "You get the dining room."

Two steps up, and a low, "Oh shit," stops James in his tracks. 

"What'd they do?" he says, spinning on his heel. Paulie rounds the corner carrying something that looks vaguely familiar: green and red and studded with poinsettia petals. It looks a little like—

"I think they ate the centerpiece," Paulie says, staring down at the mess in his hands.

James is frozen in place, stunned and confused. Nixon and Snoop aren't the most well-behaved dogs ever — and that's not at all because James spoils them — but they've never been this destructive. It would be impossible to believe, if not for the evidence staring him in the face. 

They lock eyes at the same time, Paulie looking as sick as James. "You bring them down," he says on his way to the kitchen. "I'll find a vet."

James takes the stairs two at a time.

: : :

The good news: it's only Snoop that's an idiot.

The bad news: he'll have to stay overnight for observation. And James is gonna owe Paulie some new carpeting for his bedroom. At least Paulie has some spray to neutralize most of the smell.

It's after two by the time they get back to Paulie's, and Nixon is curled up in the far corner of Paulie's bedroom, looking small and sad. Groaning, James drops to the floor next to him and starts stroking his silky head. "He's gonna be okay buddy," James says, eyes slipping closed. "Just gotta take it easy for a few days. He'll be back before you know it." 

With his head tipped back, Nixon's breathing a soothing rhythm against his thigh, the whole wretched night is catching up with James, and he starts chuckling. Quiet at first, but building slow, like there's a bubble in his chest and he needs to let out the air. 

"James?" Paulie says, his voice close, low. The concern in it is flattering, but it only makes James laugh harder, his shoulders shaking, and then Paulie is there, on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with James. Solid and silent and steady; Paulie in a nutshell.

The laughing tapers off and James rubs his face. "I'm fine, it's fine. Nothing to see here."

Paulie nudges him and reaches for James' hand, holding it between both of his own, just like he did at the emergency animal hospital. "You should probably get some sleep," he says.

James rolls his head to the side to take in Paulie's face. It's dim in the room, only a sliver of moonlight filtering in through the curtains, but James thinks he sees concern there. Care. Safety. "Yeah," James says, slow. With feeling. "We should get out of your hair already."

Paulie snorts. "There is no way I'm letting you attempt to get yourself home."

James yawns again and squeezes Paulie's hand, head falling to the side to rest on Paulie's shoulder. "I live right across the street buddy. I think we can make it that far."

"You can't even keep your eyes open."

"Can too. See?" James tilts his head up, for proof, but it turns out Paulie might be right. James' eyelids feel pretty heavy. And he likes being squished in between Paulie and Nixon. It feels like being held, without all the complications. "You might be right," he mutters into Paulie's shoulder. "Here's good too, I guess." He slouches down a little more, uses Paulie's shoulder to itch his nose.

"Or," Paulie says, jogging his shoulder, "You could sleep in the big comfy bed right over there."

"But I'm comfortable right here?" James takes a breath and gets a lungful of Paulie — pie and coffee and woodsmoke. It's very comforting. James takes another hit.

Paulie gets up with a groan, tugging James with him. "You'll be _more_ comfortable in the bed."

"How did I not know how bossy you are?" James grumbles, letting himself be pushed around. Turns out being treated like a ragdoll isn't as bad as people make it out to be.

"I hide it well," Paulie says, turning James around. "Okay bud, pants off." A second later, there are hands at James' waistband and the button's undone. James peeks open one eye.

"Good thing you bought me dinner first," he says with a sleepy giggle. 

Paulie gives him a shake and shoves him onto the bed. "I was trying to keep you from getting a concussion. But since you're so coordinated…" He disappears off toward the closet, shrugging out of his henley as he goes, leaving James to his own devices.

James' own devices, it turns out, are a little rusty from stress and adrenalin crash. It takes him four tries to skin out of his jeans. He gives up all together on his hoodie and curls up on his side, nuzzling the pillow. "This is nice, Paulie," he says. "You always have the nicest stuff."

"Oh for the love of god," Paulie says. It sounds muffled and James opens his eyes to see Paulie standing by the other side of the bed, his face in his hands. "You cannot sleep like that."

James pulls up the blankets to his nose. "Watch me."

"You're a disaster," Paulie says, but he's slipping into the bed, so who's the _real_ disaster.

"You still love me."

"I don't know why," Paulie says, shaking his head. James shrinks in on himself, shimmying his way to the edge of the mattress so Paulie has as much room as possible. He watches Paulie wiggle around a little, punch his pillow, then roll onto his side, facing James. Without his glasses, it takes a minute for Paulie's eyes to focus. "Seriously, James? You're gonna fall out. Get over here." He plucks at James' sleeve until James gives in and shuffles over, and inch at a time.

Once they're settled, with still a pretty respectable distance between them, James watches Paulie settle into his pillow. "I'm sorry I ruined your Christmas Eve," he says, quiet and low. 

Paulie's eyes spring open and he edges closer to James, one big hand cupping James' nape. "You're an idiot if you think you ruined my Christmas Eve."

"I crashed your dinner!" 

"I _invited you_ after I saw the puffs of smoke billowing from your kitchen window. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have invited you."

"Yes you would've," James says around a small yawn. "That's how Minnesota nice works." He blinks open tired eyes to find Paulie studying his face, his eyes laser focused. 

"How did I fall for such an idiot," Paulie mutters. His hand fists in James' hair and gives his head a little shake. "I would truly like to know."

"What are you talking about?"

Paulie uses the grip he has on James' hair to drag him closer, close enough that their noses bump together. And then— 

Then Paulie is kissing James, soft and wet and perfect, sour breath and all. It's everything James has wanted for so long, but never thought he could have. It's such a stunning development on such a crazy night, that it doesn't take much effort for Paulie to push James onto his back, for Paulie to slide over and kiss James again, slow and intent. James feels like he's falling and flying all at once, and scrabbles for the hem of Paulie's t-shirt, searching for skin to help ground him back to his body and this bed. 

Paulie ends it too soon, pulling away with a playful tug of James' lower lip. It's still kind of a shock, this exciting new turn in their relationship, and James doesn't realize he's being manhandled until he's snugged up all along Paulie's side, his head pillowed on Paulie's chest. 

"How much time have we missed?" he asks, fingers again seeking skin. He finds it at Paulie's waist, warm and dry, soft to the touch.

Paulie sighs, "Too much, I think."

"We're pretty stupid, then."

Paulie pinches James' ear. "Speak for yourself."

"My sister is going to be so insufferable."

"Mine, too."

James thinks about it, thumb stroking Paulie's skin. "We better make sure I get home before everybody wakes up."

Spoiler alert: He doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody even read this pairing anymore? I mean, I know I came into the fandom well after they were traded from the Pens, so it doesn't really make sense for ME to like them, but I do. I mean, how can you not love Paulie??? When he's not trying to beat Burnzie for most disastrous facial hair, at least. 
> 
> Anyway, this is mostly Nic's fault, except for how this doesn't really resemble her suggestion at all, except for getting the dogs involved. She's the one who got me into Paulie/Nealer in the first place, after all.
> 
> Tried to keep it mostly in character, but I've never written them before. Also, Christmas fic forgives many sins, amirite?


	6. Taylor/Nico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **pairing:** Nico Hischier/Taylor Hall  
>  **prompt:** fireplace  
>  **tags:** established(ish) relationship, misuse of a fireplace

"I know you're awake."

Nico is, in fact awake, but the world beyond his closed eyes is dark and opening them would kill the dream-like quality to the teeth nipping at his neck, the scruff rasping over his shoulder blades. The weight settled on his thighs is less dreamy, but just as nice. He's in a great position right now, is what Nico's saying. Waking up is for chumps.

One big hand lands on his waist, warm and soft, and skims up his side, just the right side of ticklish. Long fingers drag over his ribs, the touch firmer. Nico twitches in an effort to keep from squirming. A thumb sweeps across his armpit and Nico hides his smile in the pillow. The weight on his thighs shifts forward, pressing into his ass, teasing his back with a hint of skin on skin. Nico tries to be subtle about arching into it, seeking the heat, but it creates a pocket of space between the mattress and his chest, something Nico's brain is too drowsy to warn him about, and the hand sneaks underneath, fingers searching— 

Nico squawks and rolls at the same time, one hand covering his nipple. "Such a dick," he huffs, kicking at Taylor's hip. 

Taylor shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. "You gave me the opening."

"I was asleep!"

"Weren't," Taylor mutters into Nico's waist. His mouth is warm, trailing up the length of Nico's body. His tongue soft, lapping once over Nico's pinched nipple. Taylor takes his time at Nico's neck, careful to only use a hint of teeth and not leave any marks. He finishes with a wet, languid kiss, using his control and his chest to urge Nico onto his back. It's the kind of kiss that turns all of Nico's bones to jelly, and he's embarrassingly breathless when Taylor pulls away with a hum. 

"You need to get going," Taylor murmurs, voice sounding thick. He can't stop staring at Nico's mouth and ends up ducking in for another searching kiss.

"You have to let me up," Nico says on their next breath. His hands have come up to grip Taylor's biceps.

"And therein lies the problem." 

Nico's eyebrows arch. "'Therein?'" Another kiss, this one more demanding; more teeth, Taylor's tongue insistent. Taylor drops down to his forearms and sinks his hands in Nico's hair, pinning him in place. It's enough to make Nico's morning wood demand attention and he ends up chasing Taylor's mouth when he pulls away.

"Don't be a smart ass," Taylor says, sitting up with reluctance.

"You're the one using big words before dawn," Nico shoots back, eyes closed so he doesn't have to face reality yet. The next few moments are filled with the sound of moving sheets and shifting weight. Nico tries not to sigh.

"So. I had an idea," Taylor says, once he's settled. 

Nico peeks open one eye to see Taylor sitting next to him, legs drawn up to his chest, underneath the blankets. The only light in the room is the backwash from the street lights and the weak moon, but it's still a sight: Taylor's lean torso and thick biceps, his shoulders looking wider in the shadows. 

Nico turns toward him and wraps a hand around Taylor's ankle. "What's up?"

"You should come over for dinner. On Sunday."

Nico chuckles. " _You_ want to cook for me?" He's seen Taylor in the kitchen at the arena. It's never pretty.

"I want to spend time with you," Taylor says. "It doesn't have to involve cooking. We could," he pauses to swallow, lays his head on his folded arms and looks down at Nico. "There are places that deliver."

Nico thinks about it, thumb sweeping over Taylor's skin. Their relationship so far consists mostly of last minute dates and Nico having to sneak back home before the sun comes up to keep his roommates from suspecting anything. It's not anything Nico regrets, considering he's living his dream job, but it would be nice to slow down, actually get to know what Taylor's like away from the team, from the typical dating scene. To have the sun wake them up in slow degrees.

 _There's also the lazy morning sex_ , his morning wood reminds him.

He does some quick, silent calculating in his head. "Sunday is Christmas Eve?"

"I know," Taylor sighs.

"You're not going home?"

"Not this year." He takes a breath and says, "It doesn't have to mean anything. Or we can wait, the bye's in a couple weeks." With Taylor's face in the shadows, Nico can't see his eyes, but he feels pinned anyway. 

"We don't have to wake up before the sun?"

Taylor shakes his head. "I'll even cook you breakfast.

Nico grins. "Yeah. Okay. Let's do it."

: : :

It feels weird, driving the reverse route to Taylor's condo. Weirder still are all the cars on the road. Usually, Nico's drive home is quiet and uneventful, with very few stops along the way. Now he has to wait for traffic, seems to be hitting all the red lights, and has to pull over twice for emergency vehicles. The normalcy of it all is kind of refreshing, and tamps down a little on the sense of urgency Nico feels in his gut.

Taylor's condo is part of a tidy complex on the nicer side of town, the bulk of it surrounded by well-manicured lawns and neat landscaping. It isn't gated, but there's only one way in and a narrow two-lane road that stretches from one end of the subdivision to the other. Any other time, Nico would be too distracted to notice how well-lit the area is, the ways people try to make their piece of property their own. But now he has the time to take it in. 

There are even people out walking, which isn't surprising; it's a pretty decent night for December in Jersey. Nico himself opted to wear a sweater so he could skip the jacket. The fact that his sister said it's the softest thing she'd ever felt has nothing at all to do with his decision.

The further along Nico drives, the more people start to appear. And they're all heading in the one direction: the same direction Nico is. He doesn't want to say he feels a little like he's in a horror movie, but with him having to slow down for speed bumps, the other residents are pretty good at keeping pace with him, their shadows startling.

He rounds the corner to the last few kilometers and his stomach drops. He can see now an ominous red light bouncing off one of the buildings, rotating around and around, like the light on a cop car. 

Or a fire truck.

Nico can't speed up, but he wants to. Instead, eases his car over the last speed bump to come to a stop about a hundred meters away from Taylor's condo. There's a crowd of people in the grassy lot next to him, but they're all focused on the pair of trucks in front of Taylor's building. Just as Nico cracks open his passenger side window, hoping to glean some information from the neighbors, one of the trucks cuts its lights and pulls away, revealing a stretch of sidewalk and the condo beyond. 

From this distance, the condo doesn't look too worse for wear. And there doesn't seem to be people running about, like Nico imagines there would be if a condo were on fire. The most comforting sign is the lack of flames or smoke, but then he inches the car forward and sees an ambulance behind the second truck. His heart stutters and he presses too hard on the gas, jerking forward a few centimeters. He curses, takes a deep breath, and pulls into the visitor lot to park. 

On his walk over to Taylor's condo, Nico forces himself to count his steps, keeping his pace sedate. He shoves his hands into his pockets too, to stop them from shaking. It can't be too bad, though. It looks like the second truck is packing up and Nico has to pause to let the ambulance by. He's going to take the lack of lights and sirens as a good sign. Once he clears the front of the fire truck, he spots a group of people huddled in the grass near the end of Taylor's driveway. Most of them are in fire gear, but two are not: Taylor's nosy neighbor from across the street and Taylor himself. 

Nico can't tell much with the light distortion, but he looks okay, for a given value of the word. He's standing in his front yard in basketball shorts and a henley, hugging himself to keep warm, but he looks whole and bandage free, which is a good sign. Getting closer would be nice, but Nico doesn't want to interrupt official business so he waits.

It doesn't take long, or it doesn't feel like it takes long, for the firemen to shake Taylor's hand in turns. Nico snaps a pic of it; now that everything and everyone seems more or less unscathed, Nico's brain spins through all the possible scenarios, each one more ridiculous than the last. This is gonna make a great story someday, Nico's sure, and he's going to need evidence if he wants anyone to believe them.

That's when Taylor spots him, his face lighting up with a bright grin. Nico takes a picture of that too, shitty lighting be damned. Shaking his head, Taylor turns away to speak to Mr. Cassini, then ambles over to Nico, unable to control his smile. Or his shivering.

"You made it," he says, hugging himself. 

"Doesn't look like you tried to," Nico says, letting enough worry seep in to soften the chirp.

Taylor winces. "It's not as bad as it looks?"

"I dunno," Nico shrugs, noting the black streaks on Taylor's face and arms. "Looks like you tried to burn down your condo to get out of having to cook dinner."

"Yes," Taylor says, solemn. "That's exactly what happened." 

A shudder rips through Taylor's body and Nico reaches for his hand, folding chilled fingers between his own. "You should get inside. Don't want to get sick."

Taylor aims a thumb behind him. "I need to make sure Mr Cassini gets back okay first. You can wait inside." He gives Nico's hand a squeeze, then adds, "No pictures, though."

Nico snorts. "Sure."

Once inside, the story becomes clearer: the soot starts a a few meters from the front door and only gets worse the closer Nico gets to the living room. The living room itself is a disaster, with soot on the walls and the ceiling, a gray haze clouding the air, the worst of it concentrated in and around the fireplace. It's cold in here too, the patio doors thrown open to air out everything. Nico shivers and takes a few pictures, more for Taylor's benefit than Nico's. He then moves on to the kitchen, where ninety-nine percent of his theories centered around, to find it more or less intact. A little charred at the edges, but nothing horrific like a melted stove or a burnt entree. 

In fact, everything's still in place for whatever it was Taylor planned to make. Shrimp and pasta, by the looks of it. Though it all seems a little gray from exposure. Looks like they'll be getting delivery after all, if Taylor makes it back in one piece. Nico looks up, wondering if he should be concerned, just in time to catch Taylor emerging from the foyer, trying to use his breath to warm up his hands. 

"Go find something warmer," Nico orders, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"One thing first."

"Wha— mmpf!"

Taylor gets an arm around Nico's waist, pulling him in for a kiss. He tastes like smoke and cold, but it feels like relief too, Nico melting into it up until Taylor slides a hand underneath Nico's sweater splaying wide, cold skin pressing firm against warm. Nico flails away and thumps Taylor in the shoulder.

"Upstairs, go! I'll clean."

Taylor grins, nips at Nico's lip. "That's what you get for taking pictures."

While he's upstairs, Nico tosses all of the exposed food and dumps the pot of water. Then he uses wet paper towels and bleach wipes to clean up the light film of ash from the counters, the chairs and stools, and the kitchen table. Satisfied that at least the kitchen is safe, he ties up the garbage and takes it out back. He comes back in to see Taylor in the same henley, the shorts swapped out for his favorite pair of sweats — the ones with the hole high up on his thigh — and thick socks. He's standing at the breakfast bar, flipping through takeout menus, looking so soft and touchable, Nico finds it hard to resist. He opts for an empty bar stool instead; within reach of Taylor, but hopefully not to obvious about it.

"Gonna tell me what happened?" Nico asks, hoping he sounds curious instead of teasing.

"Not even if you paid me."

Nico hums and draws one of the menus closer. "I could guess?"

"I will lie. You still want to stay for dinner?" He selects an Italian menu from the pile and opens it up. 

"Yes," Nico says, rolling his eyes. He plucks the menu from Taylor's hand and sets it aside. "No garlic, I think."

Taylor turns to him, leaning his hip against the counter. "I thought you liked pasta?"

"Yes," Nico says with a nod. "But garlic ruins the mood." He waves a hand at the smoky fireplace. "The uh, romance?"

Taylor ducks his head, but not before Nico sees his cheeks flare a dull red. "That isn't what happened." He tries to move away, but Nico is quicker, using his shins to trap Taylor's leg. It makes Taylor wobble and Nico reaches for his waist to steady him.

"We could make a new mood?" Nico says. One of his thumbs slips under Taylor's henley and strokes the skin there.

Taylor takes a long breath and studies Nico's face. "You don't have to stay," he says eventually, weight shifting from one foot to the other. 

"I want to."

"Yeah?"

Nico gives him half a shrug and smiles. "You promised breakfast. Big fan of breakfast."

"Yeah," Taylor says, closing the distance. "I can do that."

Nico stops Taylor with a hand to his chest. "Breakfast in the morning, not for dinner," he says for clarification. 

Taylor grins. "Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a few things here.
> 
> 1: I'm new to this pairing, so I have no idea what Taylor and Nico's living arrangements are. I only learned the other day that Nico possibly lives alone? But it's too late to re-write. Taylor's neighborhood probably doesn't exist either. I just based it on all the condo developments I've ever seen. Isn't artistic license wonderful?
> 
> 2: I'm pretty sure most new apartments/condos/houses that are built now require gas fireplaces, not wood-burning. Seeing as how I am only familiar with wood-burning, that's what Taylor has in this fic.
> 
> 3: It occurs to me after the fact that it isn't entirely clear what Taylor did wrong. When he went to build the fire, he forgot to open the flue, which vents all the smoke through the chimney. Trust me when I say it is easy to forget to do this, though I never did major damage to my family room. Well uh, not with the fireplace anyway.
> 
> 4: Gotta thank Laura for listening to me ramble until I figured out a starting point, and also Steph for trying to help me better hone Nico's characterization. I'm not sure I succeeded, but I swear I tried.
> 
> 5\. This was just supposed to be a dumb fluffy ficlet, not 2+k of *waves hands* THIS


End file.
